Looking again at the idea of mental illness as related to spiritual experience, I think that it is more likely that our culture is insane and that those individuals whose bodies continue to speak to them (in anxiety, in illness, in depression, pain, and fatigue) of the great, gaping, world-destroying unfulfilled need for love, balance, and relationship are the sane ones.
Sanity is merely a collectively agreed upon set of constructs. Guess who decides upon those construct? Not women. Not children. Not people of color. Not poor people nor queer people. Not peace lovers nor song writers nor daydreamers. Not the people who are outsiders, aged, eccentric, off-putting and wild. Only the parts of us that behave are allowed to participate in the nightmare construct of reality.
So I have come to believe that my faith that love and not might must prevail will only make make me more mad each day, and that madness is the only true sanity.